


And With My Heart Shield You

by Imoshen



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: AU, BAMF Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon-Typical Violence, Feral Nicky, M/M, Protective Nicky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: The first meeting with Merrick goes a little different than it did in the movie. Nicky doesn't tolerate the mistreatment of his husband, and really... they should've taken better precautions.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 49
Kudos: 388
Collections: All and More (18+) Kaysanova Gift Bag 2020





	And With My Heart Shield You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luna_sol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_sol/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [luna_sol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_sol/pseuds/luna_sol) in the [All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020) collection. 



> Written for the lovely lunasol for the following:
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> 1\. Discord: lunasol#3102
> 
> 2\. Short prompts:  
> \- Competence  
> \- Feral Nicky
> 
> 3\. Long prompts:  
> \- Feral, overly protective Nicky (oh gee, a theme...possibly a mood...)

As they’re shepherded from a car – no armored van this time, and private plane or no, there’s no masking Heathrow Airport. Nicky’s flown in enough times to be able to tell from a few glances – Nicky takes a moment to marvel that their captors have neither blindfolded them nor patted them down anywhere between dragging them from the van in France and here.

Between the bloodbath that was South Sudan and what happened to those homophobic idiots, Nicky had thought they might’ve gotten a little smarter.

Through a door that opens for an electronic keycard, through a room that holds nondescript grey supply boxes in carts, and into a tiny elevator. It’s crowded with all the guards, the guy who was introduced as “Keane” via Copley addressing him… and, of course, Copley himself. Nicky glares at the man as he walks in, and he’s had 900 years to work on his glares… Copley actually flinches. Good.

The elevator spits them out into one of those ultra-modern places that are all glass and steel and exposed concrete, the kind people use to rub their visitors’ noses in how filthy rich they are. Nicky catches Joe’s glance and grins when his husband rolls his eyes – Joe has even less patience for this kind of bullshit than Nicky does, and Nicky would number his tolerance somewhere around zero on a good day. Today is not a good day.

The rifles two of their guards have been clutching like stuffed bears are cocked, and Nicky tenses a little. This means they’re on home ground here and make their own rules.

“Ah! Gentlemen, welcome!”

The man striding up to greet them as they’re shuffled further into the room is… well. Nicky glances at the jacket with it’s strange hoodie-style and the truly unfortunate hairstyle. More of that “I am so rich”-look. Clearly, man and flat match. At least his gun-for-hire hasn’t lost his entire brain somewhere and refuses to take the cuffs off… as if they are doing anything to hinder Nicky or Joe. Remember those bodies in the van? No? Too bad.

Then the little upstart has the nerve to quote Shakespeare at them. Nicky shares a look with Joe, one that doesn’t need words. Joe’s expression says _“Shakespeare? Really? He’s gonna die just for that.”_ , and there’s still dried blood spatter on his face. Nicky knows it’s on his, too, it itches just enough to be a nuisance, but there’ll be more soon, anyway.

“Let’s get off on the right foot, shall we? I’m Steven Merrick, youngest CEO in pharma.”

Oh merciful God, he likes to hear himself talk. And pharma? Nicky remembers Copley telling Andy his wife died of ALS… the picture starts to emerge, and it’s not one Nicky likes.

Merrick walks closer, and the man must exist without a survival instinct. Joe’s already looking murderous.

“Our work here is all about balance,” Merrick goes on, and Nicky wants to call bullshit. “How do we push the scientific frontiers whilst also turning a little profit?”

Yeah, that’s more like it. Joe obviously also wants to call bullshit, because he jerks forward and headbutts Merrick hard enough for the man to stumble back.

It stirs everyone up nicely, guns being drawn and grips getting tighter. Keane, that bastard, gets into Joe’s face and _grips his throat_. Nicky very nearly growls, because that is _his_ throat to grab, thank you very much.

Joe is forced to bend over by his set of guards, and Nicky wants to protest… but he holds his tongue, _barely_. Merrick is talking again, speaking about how he wants his evidence to be indisputable – and then the little fucker is _stabbing Joe with a letter opener._

Nicky very literally sees red.

The plastic cable binders around his wrists are no real obstacle. Nicky leaves behind a bit of skin pulling his hand free, but that is healed over by the time he reaches down his boot and pulls out that pretty knife one of the infants in the van was kind enough to part with. The other one is hidden in his other boot, and by the time Nicky is pulled straight again by the hands on his upper arms, he has both handles firmly in his grasp.

The first man goes down courtesy of a knife to the throat, and then Nicky stops consciously counting, stops _thinking_. There are men in this room who hurt his husband, and they are all going to _die_ for it. He barely registers the bullets hitting him – shoulder, ribs – that is his lung, and it hurts for a second before the wound is healed – shoulder again, and then the guy holding the rifle is bleeding out on the floor and Nicky steals the weapon.

From there, it’s almost too easy. Keane dies with a bullet between his eyes, the guy with the other rifle shares his fate when he hesitates a second too long. A noise behind him makes him swing around and squeeze off quick shots into someone wearing a white lab coat and Copley, and then Nicky throws the rifle to the side and snatches up his knives again.

The men who forced Joe to bend over are _personal_ , as is Merrick.

Steven Merrick has, by now, realized how much danger he is in, but it’s a little too late. Nicky grabs his stupid hair and drags the knife across his throat, then whirls onto the men dragging Joe back – as if that’s going to do them any good. All it does is make Nicky even more furious, to see his husband dragged backwards, used like a human shield.

Nicky is good with _any_ kind of projectile weapon, and if you throw a knife, it becomes a projectile – as guy numero uno finds out when one embeds itself in his eye. He’s still screaming when Joe snatches the handle and yanks it back out. The screaming stops shortly after.

Two minutes, and they’re surrounded by ten bodies – no, Nicky thinks as he hears the pained groan. Nine bodies, one on his way there. He didn’t take good aim when he shot Copley.

“My darling mouse,” Joe says, and he’s grinning widely. There’s fresh blood on his throat, and Nicky wants to kill Merrick again, take his time…

Joe kisses him.

It’s a real kiss this time, slow and soft and _deep_ , unlike the interrupted one in the van. Nicky moans low in his throat and wraps an arm around Joe, holds him close and feels more tacky, fresh blood against his palm.

Another pained noise has them end the kiss in mutual agreement, and then Nicky cuts the plastic around Joe’s wrists. He’s picking up guns when Joe kneels at his feet to unlock the cuffs around his ankles, and his husband winks up at him and turns his head to press a quick kiss to the seam of Nicky’s jeans. _Later_ , his heated gaze says.

The woman in the lab coat is dead, her blood a red pool around her. James Copley still breathes, even if he’s unconscious. Nicky glances him over, decides he might survive even if he might not enjoy it for a while. His left shoulder took the bullet and clearly didn’t appreciate it. Well, tough luck. Nicky didn’t appreciate watching his brother get blown up and getting shot and abducted, either.

“Make sure he told nobody else,” Joe says quietly, going to kneel next to Copley, and Nicky nods and keeps his gun trained on the man, ready to shoot if he so much as twitches. This time, it won’t be Copley’s shoulder.

Joe finds the man’s phone in his jacket and grumbles. “Fingerprint locked.”

“Well, he’s right there,” Nicky points out, and Joe snorts and presses Copley’s right thumb to the screen. It unlocks immediately.

“Predictable as anything,” Joe mutters, quickly swiping through apps. Email, social media, chats… Nicky can tell the second his husband discovered something, because Joe goes very still, very calm.

“What,” he asks. “Who did he tell.”

“Nobody,” Joe croaks. He hands the phone to Nicky, and usually Nicky’s priority would be to take Joe into his arms, to reassure and soothe him until the raw edge to his voice is gone, but they’re in enemy territory and there are probably more people with weapons where those six came from. Nicky takes the phone and reads through the messages in the chat Joe already pulled up… and his stomach turns.

“What the fuck, Sebastien,” he breathes.

“He sold us out,” Joe rasps, and oh, there are tears in his voice. Nicky takes a moment to look at the sheer rage bubbling up, memorizes its shape and look and feel, and then boxes it up. “Change this to a password,” he tells Joe, handing back the phone. “We need to get out of here.”

His own professionalism seems to help Joe, because he takes a deep breath and takes the phone back to change the settings, then slips it into his pocket. Almost as an afterthought, he hauls Copley over his shoulder.

Taking the elevator back down is a stupid idea, but they send it anyway, and then Nicky takes point down the stairs, stolen ammo in his pockets and a stolen rifle in his hands. He allows a little of that rage to bubble back up, just enough to be sharper, more deadly. Joe’s pained groans when that little _bastard_ stabbed him with his letter opener are still echoing in his ears.

Footsteps warn them there are more people running up the stairs – unaware yet there’s nobody to save anymore – and Nicky growls and makes use of his broad-shouldered build to make sure they don’t get to aim at Joe. He doesn’t go for any sort of finesse, is sloppy with his shots in a way he usually isn't, but he doesn’t care. Joe is hurting, Joe was _crying_ , and they don’t get to hurt him any further.

There’s an underground parking garage below the building. Most cars are sleek and modern and obviously expensive as all fuck. Nicky curses, trying to find one that is old enough to be hotwired without a fuss, when Joe snatches his wrist.

“Keys in the cars,” is all he says, his voice still rough with the force of his grief. Nicky has to grit his teeth against the urge to bundle him into a hug and looks, and true enough, there are car keys dangling from all the rearview mirrors.

That arrogant little asshole couldn’t even be bothered to keep his keys sorted.

Copley dumped into the trunk for now, Joe ends up in the driver’s seat because he’s better at driving on the left-hand side, and because Nicky refuses to let go of the rifle until they are well and clear of this building. “Where to?” he asks, adjusting mirrors.

“Copley’s,” Nicky decides. “He sent Booker the address. We’ll wait for them.”

Andy steps into the room, quiet, quiet, careful. Booker is at her back, rifle in his hands, aiming into the room – but it would be so easy to take aim and shoot Andy, instead.

Nicky doesn’t let it get that far.

The gunshot rings out loud in the silent house, and Booker is dead before he hits the carpet. Andy swings around and aims, but Nicky can tell the second she recognizes him. There’s shock on her face, warring with relief and anger. The anger wins out.

“What the fuck, Nicky!”

Nicky’s anger roars up in turn. He bares his teeth at her. “Here.” Copley’s phone flies through the air, and she catches it on instinct. “The chat is already open.”

Andy reads, because she has known Nicky for long enough to realize he wouldn’t fuck with her on something like this. Her face morphs from disbelief to fury to a pain so vast, it hurts to see.

Booker groans back to life behind her, and Nicky growls and marches over. Booker makes a pained “oof!” sound when Nicky slams his boot down on his solar plexus, then stares up into the rifle aimed at his face.

“One wrong move,” Nicky tells him coldly, “and I will remind you why it is best not to fuck with me. _Capisci_ _?”_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it!


End file.
